While living in Scotland in the late 70s, I used to read my children a book about Harriet, the Hedgehog. That may have been the title or perhaps it was just the name of the main character, I can’t remember. Now I would like to read that story to my grandchildren, but can’t find it. Can you help me, please?
Thank you.
I am writing a memoir and am trying desperately to identify a children’s picture book that would have been published around 1948 – 1953. It is a story about a little zebra that gets lost. The only vivid image of it I remember is the little zebra encountering a senior Zebra who was wearing reading glasses on his nose. The elderly zebra helps the little one find his mother (I think).
I do not remember the title except that I’m sure Zebra was in the title. It is a picture book.
I remember my mom reading this book which must have been in the late 70’s early 80’s about a Native American girl who was quite independent. I thought that it had the title of ‘Good Stones’ or something similar. I do remember it had stone, pebble or rock in the title. I don’t remember what happened in the story, unfortunately. I appreciate your help!
This is a book that may be British. It may have Rebecca or Dreams in title. Or Emma or Milly. It’s a chapter book with some illustrations. A girl visits a dream world where there are friends or helpers. One is a tall man (maybe a giant) with a large furry coat. It may be yellow. There may be a room she’s in that’s like being inside a globe, with lots of locks. Also, she may have to solve a series of puzzles to go through this world.
Characters include a man with one arm, a woman who is a champion swimmer who is in love with the one armed man, and I think a young girl. I got to the point where the swimmer is killed, and lost the book. I think it was published in the 1980s.
A fighter pilot crash-lands on an island and is sucked into a whirlpool of sand, finding a civilization deep inside the Earth. He is imprisoned there and manages to escape with a few others after a long time. When he describes what happened, no one believes him.
Back in 1952 or 1953, when I was 4 or 5 years old, I adored a book we took out from the Brooklyn library. I cannot remember much except that there were illustrations of a fisherman with nets full of bright colorful fish. It’s not Scupper the Sailor Dog. I was a bookseller for over 20 years and I was never able to track down this book.
It is a kids cardboard picture book that each time you turn the page all the objects are in a different shades of a single color and one object is of a different color. There are words on the pages like rhymes that highlight the object that is of a different color (for example a gray umbrella among a bunch of yellow items). The title might have rainbow in it. On the cover I think there are circle cutouts that get wider and wider that hint at the colors featured.
A book or possibly short story about 3 elves and a hole in the wall that speaks to them.
This story was read to the class by my third grade teacher at Hubbell School in Des Moines, IA, in 1949. I remember that we were entranced by it and insisted on making it into a drama. For our play the “elves” dressed in red long johns and the boy (Kenneth Brown) who devised the “hole” was cast in that role. I would be grateful if someone could direct me to it because I don’t remember the story and would like to see whether, as an adult, I can fathom what it was that charmed us so.
A boy opens his eyes and begins to see Not a book, but a short story I read in 1959 in sophomore English, a slight “a-boy-goes-on-a -journey” kind of story and the first piece of literature in which I recognized myself and one that I still recall with goosebumps. I think it was named “Dell,” the name of an adolescent boy living on a Midwestern farm. He is awakened one summer night by distant honky-tonk music coming through his bedroom window, a foreign intrusion into his otherwise quiet life. Arising, he goes outside looking for its source. Following the sound, he crosses several dark fields, climbs a small hill and looks out in the distance to see, far away but close enough to clearly discern a highway truck stop, ablaze with tall lights and neon signs, like a light-bomb on the black prairie floor. Some rigs are parked, their radios blaring; others are pulling out into the night with the shafts of their headlights illuminating their journey into the darkness, going—where? That’s what Dell wants to know, with an immediacy, an insistence previously unknown to him. From that story to a degree in English several years later. It was my “first step” in the journey and I would love to recover it if possible. Any help would be sincerely appreciated.